snuck out in the night once because it had seemed so romantic. It had been her idea, as she recalled, but Evan had indulged her. He’d come to her window at 2:00 a.m. and she’d climbed down the trellis, just like a cliché in a movie.
It was summer, and hot. Even the nights were hot, and the air was damp with humidity. They’d gone to a small private cove he knew of on Lake Michigan and they’d sat on the beach and talked for hours.
She couldn’t remember most of what they’d said. It was a lot of talk about their pasts, their dreams and the other typical things that kids that age could expound upon.
She remembered the night specifically because a quick but wild thunderstorm had come out of the blue, interrupting the clear starry night with about ten minutes of drama.
Kissing in that thunderstorm had been one of the most romantic moments of her life.
It was amazing that she could remember anything else, but she did. Evan had asked her if her father had ever thought about selling his newspaper business.
“I don’t know. Why?”
Evan had shrugged. But now, when she saw it again in her memory, she realized he had looked tense.
“Just seems like a really competitive business. I’ve heard sometimes it gets ugly, one paper accusing another of publishing lies and whatnot. It’s hard for a newspaper to come back after that kind of accusation.”
She’d laughed—laughed!—seeing no significance in what he was saying at all.
“Oh, come on, Evan, no one takes that stuff that seriously. Look at all the tabloids at the grocery store that say aliens are walking among us. Everyone knows they’re full of lies, but they’re still in business.”
“It’s different, Meredith. I wouldn’t want to be in the news business for anything. I’d hate to see a nice guy like your dad get into trouble in business.”
“As long as he keeps the aliens off the front page, he’ll be fine.” She could remember saying that, because then she’d looked up and seen a shooting star.
She’d wished for a long, happy future with Evan.
Maybe the star had been an alien.
She started up the stairs with his warm clothes now, playing and replaying his words in her head. How on earth had she forgotten that hugely significant conversation until now?
Or, on the other hand, how had she remembered it at all? Given how little thought she’d put into it at the time, and how many other things had happened that night that were a lot more interesting to the mind of a teenage girl, she was amazed that it was still in her head at all.
She wondered if Evan remembered.
She stopped at the door to the guest room she’d directed him to and knocked softly.
No answer.
Slowly she opened the door and peeked in. Light from the bathroom spilled in and she could see he was on his side, breathing softly and rhythmically.
She set his clothes down on the dresser and started to leave but then she turned back.
As if watching someone else, and completely incapable of stopping them, she walked back over to the side of the bed and looked down at him. She told herself she just wanted to make sure he seemed all right, in case he had a concussion, but the truth was she wanted to be closer to him, to see him without his knowing it.
It might have been ten minutes that she stood there, looking at that handsome face half hidden by the shadows of the night. It was a face she’d thought about many times over the years. At first with love, then later with pain and confusion, then finally with anger.
Now she wasn’t sure how she felt.
And that scared her more than anything.
She turned to leave and stepped on a creaky floorboard that protested loudly.
She froze, listening for the even breath of his sleep.
Instead she heard his voice. “Meredith?”
She turned back to him. “I just brought your clothes back. They’re on the dresser.”
He looked through sleepy eyes at the dresser across the room, then back at her by the bed and clearly not anywhere near the clothes.
“Then I came to check on you and make sure you were breathing normally,” she explained in answer to his unasked question. “You know, all the typical concussion checks. Steady breathing, ability to wake up. Congratulations, you passed.”
He sat up in bed and the sheets fell away from him, revealing a bare torso.
So much for the T-shirts she’d offered him.
And so much for her resolve to keep a professional distance from him. This was a sight that would easily fuel the romantic fantasies of any red-blooded American woman, and it was right here in her own house.
“Thanks,” he said. “Am I okay?”
“I think you’ll live.”
“Can’t ask for more than that, I guess.”
This was hard, all this small talk in a room filled with such big tension.
“If there’s nothing you need, I’ll be going to sleep now,” she said to him. She swallowed. “Do you need anything?”
Three heartbeats passed.
“There is one thing …”
“What is it?”
“I—” He stopped. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
“Oh. Okay. If you’re sure …”
He nodded.
“Good night, then.”
“Good night.”
She started to go, then stopped and turned back. She had to ask him this. If she didn’t, it would drive her crazy. “Evan?”
“Hmm?” He sat up again.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.” He scooted back in the bed. “Have a seat.”
She went over and sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. “I want you to be absolutely honest, okay?”
He frowned. “Okay.”
“Did you know what your father was planning to do to my father’s business?”
He blew air into his cheeks, then let it out in a long, tense stream. “I guess we were going to get to this someday.”
“So you did.”
“I had an idea, yeah.”
“An
